


Harnessed

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Collars, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Leashes, M/M, Master/Pet, Pet Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 05:30:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14585982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Despite the quiet attitude, Ignis is a good pet.





	Harnessed

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “[Ignis] is the pet. I'd just love to see how that would play out. Literally up for anyone being the master other than Regis or Ardyn. Triple bonus points for aloof, aristocratic, spoiled pet Ignis who acts like he's too good for normal pet toys/food/actions/things” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4747.html?thread=9948811#cmt9948811).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He pauses in the bedroom doorway, small gift box forgotten in his hand. He knew Ignis was over—saw the polished shoes set neatly beside the welcome mat and caught the faint whiff of a rich cologne. The knowledge, even the familiarity, never quite prepares him for the view. Finding Ignis naked in his bed halts him every time.

Ignis isn’t resting snuggly beneath the covers, as he probably should be, but curled up atop them—the bed’s now primly made, though Gladiolus is sure he left it a ragged mess. Last time Gladiolus checked, pets didn’t clean house. But Ignis seems to have given into a few old habits before he slipped into his collar—a sleek, royal black confection, and the only scrap of fabric that now adorns his body. It rests snugly against his throat, the engraved pendant flat against his chest. His creamy, pale skin is exposed everywhere else from head to foot. He’s leaning back against Gladiolus’ headboard, his bare ass on Gladiolus’ pillow. That should probably bother Gladiolus, but somehow, it only turns him on.

The only thing that ruins the image of a perfect pet is the phone in Ignis’ hands. He’s wholly engrossed in it, fingers typing away as his eyes stay glued to his screen—an aloof, untouchable cat, rather than the excitable dog that Gladiolus first thought he was getting—he used to picture Ignis coming to greet him at the door, down on all fours and rear wagging, mouth open and panting for attention. He should’ve known that Ignis would be too elegant for such actions, even when playing the role of a witless animal.

He should be _Gladiolus’_ animal, and Gladiolus clears his throat. Ignis’ eyes flicker up, then swiftly return to the phone. He’s probably doing work. He’s _always_ doing work. And Gladiolus knows that half the appeal of devolving into a _pet_ is to get away from that—to give up all the stresses of taking care of others and to finally have someone else organize _his_ life. That’s why Gladiolus is the master: when he looks at Ignis like this, he just wants to take charge.

He marches over and plucks the phone right out of Ignis’ hands. Ignis makes a whine of protest, uncharacteristically inelegant in its surprise. Gladiolus doesn’t relent. He turns off the device and tucks it into his pocket. Ignis frowns but remains obediently quiet. 

Ignis _is_ obedient. He is a good pet. But Gladiolus still teases, “What’re you doing on the furniture, pet? I thought we agreed that was no place for an animal.”

Ignis just looks demurely up at him. It’s too easy to picture him with a lazily flicking tail. He probably would be the sort of animal to leap up onto Gladiolus’ bed and snuggle up close in the middle of the night, despite having a nice, plush pillow on the floor with his name embroidered on it.

Because Ignis is too well behaved to explain himself otherwise, Gladiolus orders, “Speak.” It’s permission for only a few words: like a parrot performing to please their master.

Ignis smoothly purrs, “I’m not a mutt.” 

Gladiolus snorts.

“You’re a precious little purebred prize, then, too good for the floor?” Gladiolus can feel himself grinning. Ignis neither denies nor encourages the claim. In reality, he wasn’t born with as high a social rank as Gladiolus. But he carries himself with such an aristocratic countenance that Gladiolus is confident he could fool almost any judge, con them into believing he has the very best of breeding. It’s almost a shame that human pets don’t have their own stringent competitions—Gladiolus is sure that Ignis would always win best in show.

Normally, Gladiolus isn’t the type to reward snooty behaviour. But Ignis is irresistible, and it draws Gladiolus’ hand. He finds himself reaching to pet Ignis anyway. His fingers card back through Ignis’ soft hair, his eyes trailing down the long, lean line of Ignis’ tightly-toned chest, dipping along the trim jut of his hips, and gliding across the gentle curves of his thighs. Ignis lets out a breathy noise, lashes fluttering closed as he leans into Gladiolus’ touch. In moments like this, where Gladiolus strips him down and gives him base attention, Ignis visibly loses himself. It’s the sort of serene, deep beauty that Gladiolus lives for.

Ignis is _beautiful_ in every way imaginable. Gladiolus rewards him for his handsomeness with loving pets. Gladiolus sighs, “It’s probably my fault for spoiling you.”

Ignis glances up through heavy lashes and thickly dilating pupils—it looks like his glasses will fog up at any moment. He’s so stern and proper so very often, but when he is toppled, he looks so _debauched_ so easily. Gladiolus savours that and muses, “Maybe I should stop hand-feeding you and have you eat out of a bowl on the floor like any normal pet.” Ignis gives a quiet huff at the suggestion, tilting up to lick a quick strip up Gladiolus’ hand—the one that feeds him. Gladiolus lowers his palm to let Ignis cover it in small, kittenish licks. When his hand starts getting too wet, Gladiolus withdraws and indulgently scratches beneath Ignis’ chin. 

The box is still tucked under Gladiolus’ other arm. He holds it out as he explains, “That might change. As nice as it is having a sophisticated show pet, that requires strict training. And I think you might need a little more.”

Ignis quirks a brow but holds his tongue. Gladiolus gestures with the box. Ignis keeps his gaze locked with Gladiolus’ as he leans forward, nudging the lid off with his nose. 

The cardboard lid hits the bed. Ignis looks inside, and his pretty eyes go wide around the edges. Gladiolus tries to restrain his smirk. He’s sure he looks ravenous enough as it is. Ignis could clearly use some ravishing. 

But Ignis frowns and mewls in dissatisfaction as Gladiolus draws out the simple chain leash in the box. When Gladiolus beckons with his finger, Ignis tilts his head aside, submissively presenting his neck despite his sweet whines. Gladiolus clips the end to Ignis’ collar. The rustic, raw metal looks distinctly incongruous against the expensive lines of Ignis’ collar. But that basic, commoner brutishness is what attracted Gladiolus to it. He wraps the heavy chain around his fist and gives it a hard jerk, tugging Ignis up towards him. 

Pulled taut, Ignis whimpers. Gladiolus growls, “What? You think you’re too good for normal pet toys?” Ignis shivers, eyes clenching shut as he looks away. The leash isn’t exactly a _toy_ —more of a tool, one that Gladiolus intends to get his money’s worth from. A few more boxes are waiting by the front door with other things from the cheap pet shop he stopped at after work: a squeaky toy he’s going to shove in Ignis’ mouth, a rubber ball he’ll make Ignis chase, even dry treats he’s going to make Ignis beg for. Gladiolus can’t resist nipping at Ignis’ jaw like _he’s_ the animal, but in his defense, a collared Ignis would make anyone hungry. 

When Gladiolus grabs Ignis’ chin and forces him forward, Ignis’ heated gaze returns to him. There’s no denying the fervour in those eyes. Gladiolus knows that Ignis wants it as much as he does. Maybe a part of Ignis even _wants_ to be taken down a peg. Or maybe he just likes being _owned_ , and he’ll take whatever Gladiolus does to him.

Gladiolus rewards his perfection with a fierce kiss. Then Gladiolus pulls back and uses the new leash to pull Ignis down where he belongs: on the floor at his master’s feet.


End file.
